


Cloudburst

by Muffinworry



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, First Meeting, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:57:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4923988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muffinworry/pseuds/Muffinworry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloudburst

**Author's Note:**

> I finally played Transistor, and I had to write. What a beautiful game.

It starts with rain.

Sybil is frowning and tapping her foot. Her car is late, and that is unacceptable. Especially - she squints up at the gathering clouds – especially with a last-minute voting block choosing _thunderstorm_ for the evening. The first few drops come pattering down, and she glares at the sky. She starts to make a call with her terminal, but a rumble of thunder makes her slip the device back into her pocket and open her parasol instead. 

It’s a delicate construction of silk, and much, much stronger than its pretty appearance suggests. 

Sybil looks up and down the street, but the reception ended forty minutes ago, and the last guests have all left. If she hadn’t been stuck making small talk with the host, she’d be home right now, warm and dry, a glass of wine in hand.

_Where_ is her car?

Just then, a door opens in the wall, and a young woman steps out. Sybil recognizes her – one of the guests, lovely hair. An up and coming singer, apparently. Right now she’s looking around distractedly. Her gaze lands on Sybil, and her face lights up. 

“Ms. Reisz! I’m glad to see you. I thought – wasn’t this the way to the ferry yesterday?”

“The vote was this morning. The port is six blocks east now.”

The singer makes an annoyed face, then focuses on Sybil. “But what are you doing here alone?”

It’s Sybil’s turn to frown, but before she can explain, there’s a crash of thunder and the skies open.

Both women shriek as the sheet of rain tips down over them. Without thinking, Sybil moves closer and holds her parasol over the redhead. And just like that, they’re enclosed, warm and safe in a shelter just big enough for the two of them. The street is completely empty, the rain shimmering under the streetlamps. The wind whips around them, but the parasol is solid steel, under the ruffles, and doesn’t bend.

The singer blinks, and gives her such a glowing smile of thanks that Sybil has to swallow hard. Close like this, she can see just how blue the woman’s eyes are. Sybil finds herself smiling back, hoping that the woman is a decent singer. But of course she must have some talent otherwise she wouldn’t have been at the party. And she is, frankly, stunning, even soaked and bedraggled. Sybil’s built careers on less than that. 

A horn beeps lightly, and Sybil grimaces. Finally. She turns reluctantly to her car, not wanting to break the moment. 

Maybe she doesn’t have to.

“Let me give you a lift,” she insists, and folds her dripping parasol with a snap.


End file.
